


But Esau Have I Hated

by MouseyMiss



Category: Orphan Black
Genre: Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Eye Gouging, I am a HORRIBLE PERSON, Standard Helena warnings, animal cruelty, not Olga's though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MouseyMiss/pseuds/MouseyMiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I was seven the nuns said I had devils inside me." </p><p>Once upon a time, there were two sheep.</p><p>"Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Esau Have I Hated

**Author's Note:**

> So, this isn't completely done, but I wanted to put it up. And please heed the tags. This isn't for the faint of heart. Also this is what happens when I spend too much time analyzing a line in this show. Also, also, my personal headcanon is that Tomas and Maggie gave Helena her name, either because the nuns didn't name her, or because they didn't use it often enough for her to see it as her name--I feel like the play on her name is too importwnt to be accidental, though Tomas could've made up her mantra based on her name-but I like my theory better. Right, enough babbling. Read and enjoy, lovelies!

Humming to herself, the little girl pulled up bits of grass and watched the sheep. There were one two three four five babies, all running and baahing. She tipped her head, squinting. Four were running and baahing. One wasn't. One--all white, exactly like one of the others that was running and baahing--was running after one of the bigger sheep. The sheep ran faster, staying away from the baby. Then the other baby, the other one that looked like the baby the mother ran from, stopped running and baahing and came up to the mother. This time, it did not run. This time, it stopped. The second baby--Sheepy Two, she named it--came up to its mother and started eating. Then Sheepy One came up, wagging its--her--tail. But before she could get close, Mother Sheep and Sheepy Two ran away from Sheepy One. The girl frowned. That was not nice. The mother sheep should not run away from the baby sheep. 

But it did. 

All that day, and the next, and the next. Every time she looked at the sheep--out of the windows every day except the first one, because Sister Olga found her outside, and made her stay in her room with the door locked--Mother Sheep ran away from Sheepy One. Her fingers curled into fists as she stood by the window, nose pressed against the glass. Poor Sheepy One did not run so fast as she did on the first day. But she ran, and the Mother Sheep was always faster. Every time Sheepy Two came close, Mother Sheep stopped. But it did not stop for Sheepy One. 

As footsteps echoed down the hall, the girl sprang away from the window and ran toward the wall. She shoved aside one of the stones and ducked inside the narrow opening. Another push, from inside the wall this time, and the stone slid back over the hole. On her hands and knees, she crawled through the wall, pausing sometimes to listen to the sisters as they talked and walked down the halls. She clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. The sisters did not know she was right there, in the walls, listening. When the sisters did not talk anymore, she crawled back to her room. Pushed open the stone in the wall and crawled out. Back went the stone and she went over to her window. Shoved the little table up against the wall and climbed onto it. Standing on her tiptoes, hands pressed on the stones to keep from falling, she stared out the window at the sheep. 

Mother Sheep and Sheepy Two still ran from Sheepy One.

Mother Sheep did not want Sheepy One. 

Mother Sheep was bad. 

One two three four days later, when Sister Olga came in and asked if she was sorry she went outside without asking, she said yes, both hands folded in front so Sister Olga could see her fingers were not crossed, because that was the same as lying, and that was a sin. 

Now out of her room, she spent the next one two three four five six seven days watching the sheep, when she was not at Mass, or in the walls, or watching Sister Olga chop vegetables in the kitchen. Mother Sheep was still bad. Mother Sheep was very very very very bad. Mother Sheep still ran from Sheepie Two. Only maybe one or two times did Sheepiy Two get close enough to eat. Most of the times, Mother Sheep ran, or hit Sheepy Two with its head. 

The little girl growled. 

Mother Sheep was bad. 

Mother Sheep needed to be punished. 

Soon.

Another glance out the window. Sheepy Two lay on the ground, watching as Sheepy One ate. 

Now. 

Tonight. 

It was dark when she left the convent. Clutching the handle of the biggest knife she could find--Sister Olga called it a meat clever and said do not touch it is sharp--she crept toward the sheep pen. Ducked underneath the fence. There was Mother Sheep. There was Sheepy Two. Off by herself was Sheepy One. 

Fingers tightening on the cleaver, she pounced on the sheep. The first blow cut into its neck, cracking against the bone. The sheep fell on its side and she raised the knife again. Brought it down. The blade split the sheep's throat, spraying her dress with its blood. She shrieked. Now she would be punished for getting her dress dirty. Snarling, she lunged at the sheep again. "Bad! Bad bad bad!" With each word, she buried the cleaver in the sheep's body. Over and over she shouted the word. Over and over she struck the animal. Only when her arms grew too tired to lift did she stop. The cleaver fell from her hands and she sank back, shivering and gasping. 

Even when she wrapped her arms around her knees, she couldn't stop shaking. 

Mother Sheep was in pieces on the ground. 

Blood covered her dress. 

Her hands. 

Her face. 

Her hair. 

Mother Sheep was dead. 

She killed it. She killed it she killed it she killed it. 

Whimpering, she rocked back and forth. Tried to stop shaking. Mother Sheep was dead. Dead dead dead dead dead. Because she killed it. But--but it deserved it. It did not want its baby. It would not feed its baby. It deserved its punishment. It deserved to die, because it had done such a bad thing. It did. It did it did it did it did. 

Sheepy One came over and rubbed its head on the girl's hand, as if saying thank you. She smiled as she stretched out her legs and the lamb crawled onto her lap. Sheepy folded its legs and rested its chin on the girl's arm. Grinning now, she pet the sheep. Leaning back against the fence post, she hummed to herself. Her eyes slid closed as she rocked and pet the sheep. 

Voices woke her the next morning, but before she could get up, she felt fingers on her arms, holding her still. It was some of the sisters. One of them said, "demons," and crossed herself. Squirming, she reached up to scratch at the hands holding her still. "No no let go let go let--" Something sharp stuck her arm and suddenly she was asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in her room, in her bed. Sheepy One lay on the ground a few feet from her. She scrambled to her feet, dropping to her knees beside the lamb. "Sheepy?" She pet the sheep, but nothing happened. "Sheepy?" The girl shook the sheep. Lifted one eyelid. Then the other. Poked at its eyes. Still nothing. "Sheepy. Sheepy! Wake up!" Grabbing the sheep's shoulders, she shook it till its head flopped back and forth. 

A slap across her face drove her back from the lamb and she jerked her head up. Sister Olga had come into the room, but she hadn't seen or heard her. She whimpered. "Sheepy will not wake up." 

"That's because you killed it," Sister Olga said. 

The girl shook her head. "Didn't!" She stamped her foot.

"You may as well have. You killed its mother and the doctor had to come and kill it." 

Flinching, the girl shrank back from the words--she did not like the doctor, because once when she was small, she cut her hand on a rusted bit of metal and the doctor came and gave her a shot. She shook her head. "Mother was bad. Did not want it. Deserved punishment."

"Of course the mother didn't want it. There was something wrong with it." Sister Olga stepped toward the sheep and the girl scrambled back, crouching against the wall.

"No. No! Nothing wrong with it. Mother is bad!" She spat the words at the nun. 

"Yes, there was. A mother never abandons her baby unless there is something wrong with it." 

The girl shook her head, blinking back the wetness in her eyes, but before she could argue, Sister Olga pointed to the baby sheep. "Pick it up." 

"No." The girl folded her arms, scowling. 

"Do as I say," Sister Olga said, "or I'll put you in the cellar." 

She never was put in the cellar before, but Sister Olga showed it to her. Once. The girl darted forward and grabbed the lamb, cuddling it close as she followed Sister Olga outside. 

The nun walked past the sheep pens, past the fields and toward the woods that huddled around the convent. She took the sheep from the girl and set it on the ground, pushing it into the trees. 

"No!" The girl lunged forward, reaching for the sheep. There were wolves in the woods. She heard them howling at night sometimes. 

Sister Olga grabbed the child, one of her arms draped across both the girl's, pinning them, while she took the child's wrists in her other hand, made her elbows bend like she was praying. "Stop it, right now," she hissed the words into the girl's ears as she thrashed and screamed. 

"No! No! Something will eat it! Something will eat it!" 

"Good riddance. At least this way, it'll serve some purpose." The nun tightened her hold and dragged the girl, still thrashing, back toward the convent. 

The girl squirmed, bending her head to bite Sister Olga's hand, then stopped. Stared. Sheepy Two was playing with the other lambs. Every so often, it went up to one of the other mothers and ate. It wasn't its mother, because this one had a black face and its mother did not. She growled. Sheepy Two was not sad about its sister. It did not care that its mother did not want Sheepy One. It did not care that its mother was dead. It did not care that Sheepy Two was dead. It did not want Sheepie One, too. Just like its mother did not want it. 

It was a very, very bad sheep. 

That night, she slipped back outside. This time, she got out through one of the tunnels, because Sister Olga locked her in her room again. As she walked, she tried not to whimper. Her legs hurt. Her back hurt. Earlier, when they got back to the convent, she bit Sister Olga's hand to make her let go. But Sister Olga did not let go, and when they got back to her room, the nun gave her the strap for biting--because biting was very, very bad, bad like scratching and kicking--and no dinner, because she would not say sorry. 

Now, she carried another knife. Smaller. Because Sheepy Two was bad. Sheepy Two needed punishment. But not as much as its mother. So this time, she would only slit its throat. Not chop it in little pieces. But it did deserve to die. Like its mother. Because it had sinned, just like its mother. Some sins could be cleansed with prayers or punishment only. Hers were like that, her penance the strap, or time in her room, or a slap, or having her mouth sewed shut, or no supper. But all sins led to death, and some sins if not atoned for, led to death forever, in hell. 

And for some sins, death was the only penance. 

She went to the sheepfold, ducked underneath. By the moonlight, she found it. All white, just like the other one, except this one's eyes did not always look as if it stared at its nose. This one, Sheepy Two, was a copy of Sheepy One. A twin. But it was a bad one. Sheepy One was better. Sheepy One was first. Sheepy One was the original. She'd learned the word from listening to the sisters talking inside the mother superior's office one day. There was a big, loud machine in there, and one sister told the other it was a copy machine and it made copies from an original, which meant a piece of paper put inside the copy machine. This time, the Mother Sheep was the copy machine, but it had an original and a copy, not two copies. 

She grabbed Sheepy Two's head, pressed the knife to its neck and cut its throat, dropping the knife. This time, the blood shot out, soaking only her feet and the bottom of her dress. The girl let go of the dead sheep and watched as its eyes turned to glass. Behind her eyes, inside her head, she saw Sheepy One, laying on her floor, not moving, then on the forest floor, not moving. Then she saw the wolves, coming to bite and tear Sheepy One with their teeth. Suddenly the knife was in her hand again and she swung it down and down, and down, chop chop chop, like vegetables, till the lamb was covered in gashes, and it had no tail, or legs, or ears. The girl dropped the knife and clawed at the sheep's face. It did not deserve Sheepy Two's eyes. She squatted, raking her nails across its eyes. But that did not work. Holding its eye open with one hand and pulling at its eye with the other did not work. She pressed her thumbs into its eyelids, behind its eyes, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed, till its eyes popped out from its head. They hung loose, like grapes on the vine. Snatching up the knife, she chopped the eyes from the vines in the sheep's eyelids and kicked them away. This time, she didn't shake. Didn't gasp. Didn't cry. She turned and walked back to the convent.


End file.
